


Baby, You Can Sleep While I Drive

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fever, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, References to vomitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean catches the flu that's been chewing its way through the roster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, You Can Sleep While I Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MacKenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacKenna/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, [ambruises](http://ambruises.tumblr.com)! I'm glad to have you as a braintwin and friend! ❤️

“At least it's a rental?” Roman offered, stowing his gear in the trunk and reaching for Dean's to layer in alongside it. He tucked the bags that held their titles securely into a corner, happy to be getting reacquainted with the problem of keeping track of bulky hardware. “This way, if you end up repainting the interior, it becomes somebody else's problem p.d.q..”

Dean groaned and looked over at him balefully – or at least Roman figured that that was how he'd meant for it to come across; in reality, he just looked puffy and tired and miserable, and Roman felt the edges of his smirk go soft as he looked him over. 

“Just for that, I'm going to aim for your lap,” Dean said, voice catching rough in his throat.

“Uce, you look so pathetic right now, I don't even think I could get mad at you if you did.” He closed the trunk and frowned at the way his boy winced at the (not even all that loud) noise. 

“You'd find a way,” Dean rasped, digging his hands deeper into the pockets of the hoodie he was wearing - shivering beneath, Roman realized as he stepped into his space - even though the weather was an unseasonable 60-something. “I got a talent for pissing people off.”

“You've got a gift, all right.” Roman chuckled, reaching up to brush the hair back from Dean's forehead and press his lips to the skin he'd uncovered, hot and dry under his mouth. “Got a fever, too.” 

"Don't use your Dad-tricks on me," Dean groused, in a voice that was more croak than anything else, and dropped his head to rest against Roman's shoulder like it weighed a few thousand pounds that he was tired of carrying around. 

"Saying you want me to take your temperature some other way?" He wrapped an arm around Dean's back and let his other hand settle into the loose curls at the crown of his head.

Dean made a congested noise that might have started out as a laugh. "Fuck you." He pronounced it carefully in his failing voice, drawing out the vowels for emphasis: a _fuuuuuck yooou_ that Roman could hear the affection in, even before Dean sagged into him, tucking his face into the crook of his neck and breathing out, "Raincheck?" 

"Hold you to that," he promised, threading his fingers through the grown-out length of Dean's hair to rub firm circles into the hot skin beneath the collar of his shirt.

When Dean gave a muted groan, he paused, and curved his hand around the back of his neck instead.

“You really okay to ride?" he asked again. "We can grab a room in town, roll out tomorrow.”

He shook his head, which mostly meant rubbing his face into Roman's shirt. “M'good.” 

Roman knew _good_ was a load of bullshit, but he also knew that there was only so much care Dean would let himself soak up - even from him - before he balked. From the way Dean straightened in his embrace, he guessed they were coming up on his limit.

Still, he left his hand at the back of his neck to steer him to the passenger side, Dean insisting on the front seat instead of curling up in the back, half-heartedly grumbling about taking the aspirin and ginger ale Roman pressed into his clammy hands. Roman put them on the road to the next town, radio turned low, vents all aimed at Dean, who shifted restlessly in his seat, lowering then raising the back, kicking off his shoes, hunching down into his hoodie, uncharacteristically quiet.

Eventually, he settled, turning sideways in the seat, feet tucked up alongside him, arms curled loosely around his belly. Roman couldn't imagine how he could be comfortable, scrunched into so little space, but Dean had gone still - or as still as he ever was, anyway - and he didn't question it, just kept putting the miles behind them. 

"Hey, Ro?" he said in his barely-there voice. He'd been quiet and still for so long that Roman had hoped he might be getting a little sleep.

"What's up, Champ?" He glanced away from the road to take in the soft little twitch of a smile that that put on Dean's face.

"If I don't pull through, you gotta avenge me. Make that selfie-taking petri dish pay."

He chuckled and dropped one hand from the wheel to rest on Dean's knee. "If it comes to that, sure. Be way more satisfying if you hang in there and just hurl all over those feather-duster boots next time you see him, though, right?"

Dean barked out a thick laugh at that, and started tracing his cool fingertips over the lines of ink on Roman's forearm. "Devious. And kinda gross. Like the way your mind works."

"Some asshole I love's been rubbing off on me." He didn't look over to gauge Dean's expression, though he felt his hand close around his wrist, a gentle pressure that only went lax when his boy finally drifted off to the rhythm of the road.


End file.
